Just One Voice
by ArentYouSophiaLoren-8887
Summary: Becky Baker never used to question her faith. But when life keeps going from bad to worse, she struggles to keep her belief alive. Except she might need a little help to find it again. Becky/Jonah ONESHOT.


**Author's Note: Yeah, I'm aware it's been...a while, to say the least. In the time between this fic and the last time I wrote something for this fandom, I managed to move out of state, get a new job, get an apartment, and pay my own electricity bills. Blame Degrassi for being kind of uninspiring since, like, 2013. Though I had been keeping up with every episode since I stopped writing and watched the two-week block of final Teennick episodes.**

 **I got the idea for this months ago and never found the inspiration to finish it until now, so the timing is out-of-date. It takes place between 14x09, 'Something's Gotta Give', and 14x10, 'Hero vs. Villain'. In case you've forgotten what happened since those episodes happened forever ago, Drew and Becky ended things once and for all because Drew still thought Clare's baby was his. And while she's writing songs and performing with Jonah, they haven't started dating yet.**

 **Special thanks to the awesome musiksnob for her beta-reading and awesome suggestions. She's pretty much the best. I kinda like her =)**

 **I don't own Degrassi. Because if I did, Drianca would have ridden off into the sunset together (a pox on you, Epitome) and Adam wouldn't be dead.**

 _ **This is my path/ Mine, but not by choice/ Born with just one voice/ One thing set to do/ Sing it**_

 _ **\- The Dirty Guv'nahs, 'Lead Kindly Light'**_

 **I.**

She saw three different headlights pass the street corner before an old red car slowed down in front of her. She stared at it warily, feeling like a wild animal, or maybe the prey trapped by it.

Even when Jonah rolled the window down and a solid blast of guitar spilled out, she still watched him, unsure of what to do next. As if she hadn't just called his number on her phone and summoned him to the corner of her street.

"Becky! Are you okay?"

Another car rolled up on the street behind him, waiting to move. When he didn't, the other driver beeped the horn. Jonah peered behind him, scowling. The guitar screeched through the open window.

"Are you gonna get in the car?" he asked.

The driver behind him laid on his horn, letting it wail through the quiet. Out of the corner of her eye Becky could make out the old lady who lived next door standing by her mailbox, glaring at the two cars disapprovingly.

The driver behind Jonah rolled his window down and took his hand off the horn just long enough to shout something at them; Becky couldn't make it out the words, but the angry tone of his voice made her flinch. He sped past Jonah's car, still shouting, and then stuck his hand out the window and flipped them both the middle finger.

Tears came to her eyes; nobody had ever flipped her off before.

The music switched off inside Jonah's car, and the transition from clanging instruments to total silence was jarring.

"Becky?" He said her name more quietly this time. "Do you still need a ride?"

She stared at the ground.

"Yes." It came out a whisper.

Jonah nodded, and she climbed in the car. She was about to climb in the backseat when he pushed his school bag off the passenger side and said, "You can sit up here, if you want."

She didn't argue, just slid in and buckled her seatbelt.

 **II.**

Jonah waited until they'd left her neighborhood to say something.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Her throat closed up. She didn't want to break down and cry in front of him, so she just bit the inside of her cheek hard and shook her head.

To her relief, he didn't ask her anything else or demand an answer, just kept his eyes on the road. With one hand he reached over and adjusted the radio dial, and pulsing guitars and drum beats came out the speakers, tinged with fury and need. He kept the volume down, just loud enough so she could make out the melody but not so loud that she could hear the actual lyrics. It was a strange feeling; like she was hearing the world underwater.

Jonah took a left at the first intersection, then made another left, and from her window Becky could see they were on the road behind Degrassi, the one that lead to the back entrance to the student parking lot. The school was dark and quiet and, save for a few stray cars that were probably teachers working late, deserted.

"So what's the plan?" he asked, as they drove past the school. "Do you want me to keep driving around in circles, or any specific destination in mind?"

Becky kept her head turned to the window. She tried watching the familiar scenes pass by, but it made her feel dizzy, so she just focused on the skyline. There were no clouds, just blue sunshine as far as she could see.

"I don't know," she said. "Could we just keep driving?"

She could feel his eyes turning away from the road, watching her in concern. It felt good, but she still couldn't look at him.

"Sure," he said. "We can do that."

 **III.**

They drove to nowhere for what felt like hours, or at least long enough for the gas to run low. Jonah pulled into a station to fill up while Becky stayed in the front seat, fiddling with the hem of her dress. She'd been dressed up to go to Bible study, but wished she'd worn something less…summery. Although it wasn't like her closet had many other options. Everything she owned was pink, yellow, and frothy. She was like a freaking Starburst.

Why was everything she owned so bright and sunshiney? Did she have anything to wear that didn't scream Hippie Sunflower Queen?

(Except the hippies did drugs and had lots of sex and listened to music that promoted doing drugs and having lots of sex. So maybe that wasn't the best comparison.)

Maybe she ought to buy some Doc Martens. Or observe the Rubber Room kids, their weird-colored hair and black clothes, and try to dress like them. She could take some pointers from that Grace girl, with her blue braids and strange facial piercings that looked really painful.

The only black things Becky owned were the black dress she wore to the fashion show – too dressy – and the one she wore to Adam's funeral - a definite no-no.

But what good would that do. Her parents would never let her out of the house dressed like a Goth, and while being on their good side wasn't exactly a priority these days, it's not worth getting into another fight with them over wearing black.

When the tank was full, Jonah climbed back into the driver's seat.

"You still want to drive around?" he asked. "Or do you have any other place in mind?"

She was shaking her head when she realized he was reaching into his pocket, pulling his wallet out. She saw the few bills inside, and suddenly felt embarrassed that he'd wasted so much gas on her little…whatever this was.

She reached into her purse, fumbling in her wallet for any cash she might have. Inside, she found her Degrassi student ID, her YMCA membership badge from when she lived in Florida, and an emergency credit card her parents had given her last summer. No cash, of course.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her face heating up. She couldn't tell why this was embarrassing her, or why it made her want to cry all of a sudden, but her throat closed up and there were tears right there, dripping down her cheeks.

"Sorry," she repeated, and that caused another burst of tears.

"Hey." Jonah stared at her a moment, then reached over towards her side. She thought he was reaching for her hand, until he snapped open the glove compartment and pulled out a pack of tissues.

"Here," he said, and she couldn't look at him as she tore them out of the packet and wiped her nose. "Look, you don't have to tell me what's wrong. But do you want me to take you home? Or do you want to keep driving?"

He kept looking at her, eyebrows raised, and she started to cry harder. It was humiliating, but she couldn't make herself stop and get a grip, so she just kept sobbing in the front seat.

"Please don't take me home," she said. Her voice bubbled on every word.

Jonah nodded. He took the snotted-up tissues piled in her lap and, holding them between his index and pointer fingers, tossed them out the car window and into the trash can next to the pump.

 **IV.**

They drove in circles for a little while longer, then Jonah pulled into a drive-thru. He got a large order of French fries for himself and asked Becky if she wanted anything. She almost said no until she realized she was thirsty, as if all the crying had dried her out.

"Anything specific?" he asked. "Coke, Sprite?"

The idea of making a decision was too exhausting, so she said, "Surprise me."

Jonah looked at her, then back to the window. "One lemonade," he ordered.

The voice in the speaker box squawked a total, and told Jonah to pull around to the window. The car in front of them was paying, so Jonah put the car in drive and waited.

"How long does it take a person to pay for a hamburger?" he wondered aloud. "Unless they're one of those 'exact change' people."

"How'd you know I like lemonade?" Becky asked.

He shrugged. "You seemed like the lemonade-liking type."

As they inched forward in the drive-thru line, Becky wondered how he could tell something like that just by looking at her. Her parents always said she "wore her heart on her sleeve", and Luke always told her she was the worst liar ever because she was pathologically incapable of hiding something. Well, of course she was the worst liar ever - lying was a _sin -_ but she knew he was really talking about how obvious she was with her emotions. When she was angry, upset, happy...all of it just bubbled to the surface. She was never good at reigning it in. She couldn't really remember ever needing to, before moving here. She was used to being completely herself around people.

Of course, that was before her life became way, way too complicated for her to figure out.

But even if she didn't really know who she was anymore, it seemed like the rest of Degrassi did. Everywhere she went, she was someone other than who wanted to be: she was The Girl with the Dead Boyfriend. Or the Girl Whose Brother Went To Jail. Or The Girl Who Hooked Up With Drew Torres. Or The Girl Who's Really Into Jesus.

She wasn't sure which hurt worse: knowing those were all true, or knowing none of them were right.

The worst was having nobody to talk to. Her old friends in Florida had drifted, and even before Adam died and Luke went to prison, Becky knew she was losing them. Visiting last summer made her realize that a year away had started to change everything between girls who had been her best friends since first grade; after ten years of knowing Becky, it was like a few months in Toronto had erased an entire decade.

She and Imogen promised they'd be there for each other, and she knew her friend was trying. But Becky also knew how Imogen was when it came to relationships. She and Jack would go to the mall or artsy foreign films and coffee dates, or to some dance thing of Jack's, and Becky was always invited but in a way that made her feel like Jack and Imogen were just doing it to be polite. And when Becky did go along with them, things weren't the same. Conversation didn't come easy between the three of them. Jack was always nice to her, but they had nothing in common. After exhausting the topic of the two classes they had together, the three of them had nothing else to talk about, and inevitably Jack and Imogen would end up having an entire conversation without her. They never tried to exclude her or hurt her feelings, but that was always how it went.

They spent so much time together lately, it was like they'd morphed into one being – Jimogen, or Jackogen, or Jimojack. Something like that.

Jimojack. It sounded like the name of a fast food kid's meal. Like something you could order at a place like this.

"Something funny?"

Becky blinked. She'd seriously spaced out there.

"Nothing." She shifted in her seat, closer to the car window. "Not important."

And anyway, even without a girlfriend to distract her, Imogen wasn't exactly the best person to confide in. All she wanted to do was cheer Becky up – take her out for quesadillas, listen to cheerful Top 40 music at full volume, watch movies with epic dance scenes and try to re-enact the choreography. And Becky did appreciate her efforts, but sometimes, she just didn't want to smile. She didn't want to be cheered up. She wanted to be sad, and angry, and bitter, and sullen, and she wanted someone to let her feel that way, because lately, life completely sucked.

At least with Drew, she was allowed to be sad. Because he knew what she was dealing with and how alone she felt, and he was pretty alone, too. Which was why it was so easy to talk to him.

He knew that her dad basically ignored her and her mom didn't talk to her unless it was to tell her to do her chores. She knew that his mom was seeing a therapist every week and trying to convince his dad to join a grief support group for parents who had lost a child, but his dad didn't want to go, and they fought about it when they didn't think Drew could hear. She knew Drew went to visit Adam's grave every month; she knew about the sleeping pills, and how his mom tried to get him on antidepressants earlier that year. He knew that her first concert had been seeing Tim McGraw with her family at the Orlando Magic stadium when she was eight. He knew that her brother secretly liked Adele and promised to ruin her life if she ever told anybody.

(Little late for that, Big Brother.)

He knew that when they were little, Luke pushed her down because he didn't want to share his pool noodle with her, even though their mom said he had to. And when she fell, she cut her leg open on a sprinkler head, and Luke cried harder than Becky did when it wouldn't stop bleeding. And even after a trip to the emergency room and ten stitches in her thigh, she never told their mom Luke had pushed her.

Then Jonah handed her a steaming hot bag that smelled delicious, and paid the cashier in the window. Becky inhaled the greasy scent of French fries, so heavy she could practically taste it, and willed herself to stop thinking about Drew Torres. Because even if he had been there for her when she'd been completely alone, he wasn't anymore. He couldn't be, what with becoming a teen dad and besides that, an overall idiot. No matter how much she missed talking to him about everything, he couldn't be that person anymore, and she had to suck it up and get over it.

"Can you pass me a fry?" Jonah asked, as they pulled out of the drive-thru lane.

She handed him one, which he ate with exaggerated gusto, moaning a little as he chewed. Becky smiled, but her face was heating up like crazy whenever he dragged out a moan, like he was experiencing the greatest pleasure of his life.

She slammed the door on that thought. No pleasure. No moans. No none of that, Becky Baker. Nope.

"You want one?" Jonah asked.

"That's fine," she said, hoping she wasn't turning bright red.

"Come on. I got enough so we could share. You can help yourself."

"No, really. I, uhh, had a big dinner. So I'm all good."

 _All good?_ She mentally cringed. Who said that?

Jonah just shrugged, though, like he couldn't tell how much she was embarrassing herself.

"Suit yourself," he said, and reached into the bag for another fry.

They kept driving for a while, the radio turned down so she couldn't make out the songs. But Jonah seemed to know every one, tapping his greasy fingers against the wheel as he followed one road, then the other, then another, to no particular place as far as she could tell.

Which was fine with her. Just moving made her feel calmer. The screaming match she'd had with her parents that had gotten so far out of control seemed like it happened a long time ago, instead of just an hour or two. As they followed the winding streets away from the skyscrapers and streetlights, she could feel the fight slowly ebbing from her mind, fading word by angry word as they drove farther away from the city.

"Thanks for coming to get me," she whispered, pressing her forehead to the window. "That meant a lot."

"Don't worry about it," Jonah said.

"No, I'm serious." She looked up at him. "Thank you. Coming through for me like that...it really means something. My life is a mess right now, and the fact that I could count on you to help..."

After she'd blurted all that out, she wished she could take it back. He had to think she was some crazy, clingy, needy little stalker by now. If he didn't already.

But Jonah just said, "Becky, really. It's okay. I was happy to do it. I'm sorry everything's been so hard for you lately. But I'm here to help, you know?"

He looked away from the road for just a second, catching her eyes.

"Okay," was all she could manage.

He turned back to the road, which was good because if he looked at her any longer she'd probably catch fire.

"And anyway," he said, "you still have friends who care. I'm sure Imogen would have been there for you, too, if you'd asked."

Becky twisted her hands in her lap. She hadn't reached out for Imogen, though.

She'd wanted Jonah.

"Yeah," she replied instead. "She's a good friend."

They made a loop around the mall, and then headed towards the other side of town.

"Hey, speaking of Imogen," Jonah said, "do you think you could ask her something for me?"

"Like what?"

"Like if she wants to join the band."

Becky stared at him. "Seriously?"

"Why not? I know she was in last year's school band. I heard her sing, and she has a decent voice. Not as good as yours, but I think the three of us could have some nice harmonies. And because she's your friend, and I think it'd be better having someone I sort-of know, instead of auditioning a bunch of people I don't."

It all made sense, but Becky shook her head.

"I don't know," she said, fumbling for a reason. "Imogen – she's really busy. She probably won't be into it."

"But you think you could ask her for me?"

Why didn't she want Imogen in the band? She liked singing, and she liked spending time with Imogen. Seemed like a win-win, to spend time singing with Imogen.

At least then, they would be able to spend more time together. Time without Jack.

(Wow. Maybe she could pray that wasn't as awful a thought as it sounded?)

Except –

If Imogen joined the band, she might lose what little time she had with Jonah. And Becky wanted something she could keep all for herself.

Did that make her a terrible person?

Becky sighed, and caught a glimpse of herself in the rearview mirror. Paranoia and out-of-nowhere jealousy were definitely not good looks on her. And they weren't very Christian, either.

"Imogen is...I mean, she's a really good person, but she's kind of…flighty, I guess? Look, all I'm saying is, she might not take it as seriously as someone else would. So I'll ask, but I think you're making a mistake. Because if you want to get someone who will work hard and treat this like more than just a school club, you should think about auditioning someone else."

She felt out of breath. She hadn't lied, exactly, but she hadn't really been honest, either. Definitely not the kind of thing Jesus would approve of.

Then again, did Jesus approve of putting your own brother in jail? Or thinking about kissing a boy she barely knew? Or wanting to keep her friend out of the band so she might kiss a boy she barely knew?

"Okay," Jonah said. "If you don't think it's a good idea, you don't have to ask her."

Becky stared out the window.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Becky, it's not a big deal." He reached over and nudged her shoulder. "I'm not mad or anything. I was just thinking of who else might want to be in the band."

"What's wrong with just being a duo for now?" Becky asked, then thought she sounded weird and obsessive, so she added, "I mean, I thought we rocked that Open Mic night. Everybody loved our song. And we're already great at writing together. What if someone else wants to change everything, or doesn't like our ideas?"

"Nothing's wrong with being a duo," Jonah said. "We did rock the Open Mic. But Prodigal Spoon was meant to be, you know, a band. Which usually means more than two people."

"Not always!" Becky replied. "The White Stripes were a duo!"

Jonah gave her an odd look.

"Becky Baker knows the White Stripes," he said, sounding skeptical.

She bit her lip.

Adam always used to make her playlists with music he liked. He told her, now that she was dating a rock star, she should learn from other equally awesome rock stars. She had an entire library of music in her iTunes with the songs he'd given her. The White Stripes were on there, because they were one of his favorite bands.

On the last day they saw each other, before she left for Florida, he gave her another CD. He said it was filled with songs to remember him by, since they wouldn't see each other until she came home. And, he added, in case she ever forgot what he looked like, she could pop in the CD and remember.

She put it in the bottom of her carry-on, and forgot it was there for the entire summer. It wasn't until a couple days after the funeral, when she forced herself to stop lying in bed crying her eyes out and do something productive, that she unpacked her vacation bags and found the CD. The last gift he'd ever give her.

Becky had never listened to it. Instead, she hid it in the box on the top shelf of her closet, where she kept movie ticket stubs, cheap carnival prizes, teddy bears, and photo strips from that booth in the mall. Souvenirs from each one of their dates.

"My ex-boyfriend really liked them," she mumbled.

She braced herself for a follow-up question, but Jonah just nodded, and to her relief he let the matter drop.

"And the Civil Wars," Becky added, after they'd been sitting in silence for so long she thought she'd jump out of her skin. "They were a duo!"

"Did your ex like the Civil Wars, too?" Jonah asked.

"Nope. That was all me."

Okay, so she'd heard them on a Pandora playlist for Taylor Swift and only knew, like, two of their songs. But what was the harm in letting Jonah think she had more music cred than she actually did?

"My point is," she said, "there are plenty of great bands with just two people."

Jonah laughed.

"Okay," he conceded. "I hear you. But I still want Prodigal Spoon to be more than that."

"I can ask," she offered. Even though she really, really, REALLY didn't want to.

Maybe having someone else there would be helpful. It might keep her from bursting into random, embarrassing emotions she couldn't control. And if Imogen had Jack, Becky didn't think she'd try to muscle in on Jonah.

She blinked. Muscle in? What was she talking about? They weren't even dating, and Becky was already acting like the jealous, paranoid girlfriend. Maybe she really did need Imogen around, if only to keep her from acting like this.

Beside her, Jonah was still talking, though she wasn't really listening. Until she heard him say, "Do you mind if we head back to my place?"

She jerked around to look at him, accidentally flinging her hand into the window. "What?"

"No, not –" Jonah shook his head. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. What I meant was, I have to be home soon. I can drop you off if you want, but you can also come back to my house. If you still need a break from your parents."

Her mouth was still hanging open as Drew's words popped back into her head. Jonah could say he was straight-edge, but Becky had been lectured enough about high school boys and their "wants". Plus, whenever she hung out with Drew, he'd been all over her.

Maybe that's really what Jonah wanted. To do...that. Or other stuff. She wasn't sure what kind of stuff, exactly, but she'd seen enough teen shows at friends' houses when her parents weren't around, and heard stories through various grapevines. There were other things in between kissing and...It.

"And, uh...what would we do at your house?" Each word came out slowly.

"I don't know," Jonah said. "We could…listen to music. Work on a new song. Brainstorm some ideas for the band. Or we could just watch TV. Whatever you want. I'm just asking, if you don't want to go home."

What if music was, like…code, or something? For something?

Maybe all the straight-edge stuff was just talk, and he really was trying to "get fresh" with her.

Did she want that?

What if she did?

Stop being crazy, she scolded herself. Jonah said he wasn't interested. They'd already been through this at the Open Mic. The only reason she was obsessing about it in the first place was because Drew said guys and girls couldn't be just friends. And even if he hadn't gotten a girl pregnant, he was still an idiot. An idiot who thought Canada was its own continent.

Why had she listened to him, again?

Oh, right. Because she was dumb enough to want to be with him. And miss him. And want him to be the person she could call to pick her up crying on a street corner, because she couldn't be at home with her parents anymore and she had nowhere else to go, and she needed someone to listen and let her be sad that her life completely sucked and her family hated her and she had no other friends she could count on to be there for her.

And she felt like praying wouldn't fix all her problems? Because maybe she didn't feel like Jesus was listening? And she didn't recognize herself anymore?

But Drew wasn't the person she could call to pick her up on the side of the road.

"I don't want to go home," she told him.

Jonah nodded, like it was no big deal.

"Okay. My place it is."

 **V.**

They stopped in front of a small white house with a red roof and matching shutters, and Becky was surprised at how cozy it looked. Like a storybook cottage, nestled away in some magic forest. She'd expected Jonah to live in an apartment, or somewhere a little less...cute.

"Home sweet home," he said, and she followed him to the front door. There were wind chimes attached to a tree branch that jingled softly in the breeze, and a straw mat at their feet that said WELCOME.

"Do you want something else to drink?" Jonah asked, as they headed into the kitchen. He peered into the fridge. "We have…milk, and Sprite. Not much else. Sorry."

"No, that's fine."

"So which one?"

"Huh?"

Jonah half-smiled at her. "Milk, or Sprite?"

"Oh." She stared at her hands. She could feel herself blushing. "Ummm, I'll just have water."

While Jonah grabbed a cup from the cabinet, Becky looked around the room. The kitchen had a sliding glass door that offered a sunny view of absolutely nothing, the backyard brown and sparse from winter. There was a clothes line with nothing strung on it, a trampoline that was covered in branches and dead leaves, and a rusted barbecue that looked like it hadn't seen a burger since 1993. But she noticed the kitchen was kept very clean, and from her seat at the table she could look into what she assumed was the den, lined with antique canning jars and white lace curtains on the windows. Someone who lived here obviously tried to brighten the place up.

He handed her her drink, then said, "Sorry, should have asked if you wanted ice."

"It's fine." She stared at the cup in her hand for a minute. It was one of those kid's cups you got at chain restaurants, with little cartoon figures on it. For some reason, it made her smile, sort of. "You didn't have to offer me anything."

"It's the well-mannered thing to do," Jonah said, shrugging. "Or so my mom says."

That made her smile again.

"Is she home right now?" She peered around, like his mom might just appear and make her feel less awkward about being alone with her son. "I hear a TV on."

"She's at work. My little brother's home, but he's glued to the X-Box."

"Will the music bother him?" She didn't know why she sounded so prim. Or why Jonah's brother would even care what they did. Although she was relieved someone else was home.

He shook his head. "Don't worry about him. He won't even notice we're here. Mila Kunis could walk by in a G-string and he wouldn't look away from the screen."

"Oh." Something about him saying "G-string" made her face burn. She wondered if he could tell. Then he looked at her and caught her staring, and she gulped the water, hoping it would make her look less creepy. It went down the wrong pipe, making her sputter.

"Hey." He clapped her on the back a few times. "You okay?"

She coughed a few more times, then managed to wheeze out, "Yeah, I'm okay."

Jonah grinned at her. "Good. My mom hates it when girls choke in the kitchen."

She tried to smile back, but her eyes were streaming.

"Could I use your bathroom?" she asked.

Jonah pointed down the hall, and she practically bolted from her seat. She locked the door behind her and leaned with her back against it, taking a deep breath.

The bathroom was as clean and cutesy as the rest of the house, with fluffy white hand towels and yellow floral wallpaper. Becky stared at her reflection in the mirror, wincing a little at how sweaty and frizzed-out her hair looked. She tried fluffing it with her fingers, or at least smoothing out the waves, but it stuck resolutely where it was.

When she was little and had hair down to her waist, her grandmother was the only person who could ever get her to brush it. Her granddad used to say she looked like a little lion, with all that poufy hair. Luke and his friends chased her around at school, neighing at her and calling her Horsey. When she got to third or fourth grade, she started brushing her hair more, and Luke stopped calling her that. Although a lot of his friends kept doing it.

Thinking about her brother made her think of her parents. And that made her think of earlier that afternoon, which had felt so far away when she was riding in Jonah's car but now came flooding back to her all over again, the entire argument replaying in her head word for word.

It was the only time her dad had ever actually screamed at her. How crazy it felt. And how everything inside her froze when he did.

Her dad never yelled, ever. He was the one who kept things calm. Her mom was more likely to snap at her and Luke if they didn't do something she asked them to do, or when they were arguing about something trivial. But her dad used to always swoop in and fix the situation. He was the king of compromise.

Except for earlier today.

He just turned and yelled. In her face. Even her mom, who barely spoke to Becky since Luke's sentencing, stared at him in shock, her mouth hanging open.

But she didn't disagree with her husband.

Right after her dad shouted, the entire house went completely still. Her mom had stared at her dad, still in disbelief. Her dad had stared around the room, as if he was waiting for someone else to tell him what to say, now that he'd gone off script. Becky had stared at the ground. She kept staring at it while her dad stormed out and went to his study, slamming the door so hard she and her mom both winced. She kept staring as her mom watched him go, then turned back to Becky, looking like she was going to say something but then closing her mouth into a thin line before disappearing into the bedroom. She stared at the ground for so long she could count the lines in the tiled floor, then shuffled out the back door and onto the porch.

She'd pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, staring at the name in her contacts list for a moment before pressing CALL. She wasn't sure why she was calling him, except she and Drew weren't really talking since he was dealing with Clare and their baby, and Imogen was probably busy with Jack. And besides, Imogen didn't have a car.

Jonah picked up on the second ring.

"Hey, Becky. What's going on?"

She hadn't expected to hear his voice, for some reason.

"Becky? Hello? Are you there?"

Another long pause, where she could hear some shuffling at the other end.

"Hello?" he asked, sounding more annoyed.

"Can you come here?" Her voice sounded hoarse. Like she'd been the one screaming and not her dad.

"Hey, Becky? You're still there?"

"Can you please come here?" she asked again.

"What's wrong? Is everything okay?"

Becky closed her eyes. Tears were clogging her throat, slipping down her cheeks and off her chin.

"No," she said into the phone, her voice quavering. "I'm not. Can you please come and get me? I can't stay here."

She tried to breathe but couldn't, and let out a sob into the phone that made her chest hurt. She couldn't talk for a minute.

"Okay, Becky. Listen to me." She could hear more shuffling, and his heavy staticked breathing through the phone, like he was in a hurry. "Stay right where you are. I'm coming to get you. I'll be there soon, okay? Just, don't go anywhere. Tell me where you are."

She somehow managed to get her address out, although he had to ask her to repeat it twice, because she was still crying.

And he showed up. Twenty minutes later, just like he said he would.

Becky reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone. No missed calls or texts from anyone. Her parents hadn't called demanding to know where she was and who she was with. She wondered if they even noticed she was gone, or if they cared. Or if they were happy she was out of the house. Without her, her family was probably a lot happier. Or at least, they would be, if Luke wasn't in jail.

Her fingers thumbed through old text messages, until she found some from Drew, sent a few weeks ago when she asked him to meet her grandmother. She looked at the smiling and kissy-face emoticons they'd sent to each other, the little inside jokes, the winky faces he texted back.

She was still mad at him for blowing everything with her grandma, and was even madder at herself for getting involved with a guy who had a kid on the way. Why had she even acted like she could ignore that?

Oh, right. Because it was easy to pretend that her boyfriend didn't have random one-time hook-ups with other girls, until one of them got pregnant with his baby. Kind of hard to ignore that.

But as angry as she still was about the whole mess, the urge to text Drew about the fight with her parents was overwhelming. She almost did, too, until she figured she'd have to tell him she was with Jonah, and he'd get all huffy about it. She didn't feel like dealing with that right now.

She scrolled down further through her texts, until she saw the ones from this summer. From Adam. The sweet little messages he'd send her during the day, the good morning and good night texts, the pictures he sent her from camp. Then, as the summer went on, the texts asking where she was and what was going on, the apologies for hacking into her Facerange account, saying over and over and over again how sorry he was.

The last text he sent was the day before the crash. It said: _I wish I could take it back. I'm so, so sorry._

Did he ever get her last message?

He would have come to get her on that street corner. He would have stood by her through Luke's trial. He would have told her to go straight to the cops with that video of Zoe. He would know exactly how to help her right now.

She slid the phone back in her bag, and realized she'd been in the bathroom for a while. She turned on the sink to make it sound like she was washing her hands, and then flushed the toilet, cringing at the idea of Jonah hearing her do that. She tried one more time to fix her hair, then gave up when she realized her hands shaking.

She hoped she hadn't embarrassed herself too much, but Jonah was sitting on the couch with a bowl of potato chips, watching an episode of some TV show she knew was popular at school about two guy who cooked crystal meth. Obviously, she'd never seen it.

"You want some?" Jonah asked, holding the bowl out to her. "Help yourself. We have a whole other bag in the pantry. Or I could get you something else, if you're hungry."

"No, that's fine." There was a recliner next to the couch and a small rocking chair, but Becky thought it would seem rude to just sit in one of those chairs without knowing who usually sat there. So she sat on the couch next to Jonah, trying to keep a distance between them without being obvious.

She tried focusing on the show, but she didn't know any of the characters' names or the overall storyline, and the dialogue sounded foreign to her ears. She gave up trying to follow what was going on and just pretended to look interested, her silent phone burning a hole through her purse.

Jonah watched the show in silence but kept glancing over at her, his face unreadable. She couldn't look at him back, because she didn't know what he was expecting to find when he looked her way.

When the show hit a commercial break, he clicked the TV off and turned to her.

"Okay," he said. "You feel like telling me what happened?"

When she stared at her lap, he said, "you don't have to, but it's obvious whatever it is was pretty bad. Was it about your ex?"

She stared at him, her mouth dry. "What?"

"You know," Jonah said. "The guy from the Open Mic. The class president."

"Oh." Becky shook her head. "No, not Drew. It has nothing to do with him."

Jonah nodded.

"Was it about your brother?" he asked gently.

She swallowed a few times, afraid she might start crying again.

"Sort of," she said, when she thought she could speak without her voice wavering. "It was my parents. We got into this huge fight and, umm, they just...I couldn't stay in the house with them anymore."

Jonah's eyes widened. "They didn't kick you out, did they?"

"No," she said. "Not that."

Becky wrung her hands in her lap. Her palms were slick with sweat, and when she closed her hands into fists her fingernails dug into the soft skin. It would leave a mark.

"We just never did that before," she whispered. "I mean, fought. That way."

Jonah nodded. "For what it's worth, I've been there before. Up until a few months ago, my mom and I used to really go at each other. But a lot of it because she was worried about me, and I was pushing her away."

Becky shook her head.

"No, you don't get it. I _never_ fought with my parents before Luke's trial. I never had a reason to fight with them, because I never screwed up! I never got in trouble for anything. And now they all hate me because -"

Now she was crying. Again. She should probably have been embarrassed, but she didn't feel anything anymore.

"They said it was my fault the family was broken," she sobbed. "My dad, he said that. Right to my _face._ He yelled at me, and he's never yelled before. He said Luke deserved a better sister. And I broke our family."

She kept crying. Her head ached and her nose was clotted with snot and the tears dripping down made her cheeks itch, but she couldn't stop.

Jonah put the bowl of potato chips on the coffee table. Then he reached over and hugged her, snot and all, hands resting on her back.

"He's an asshole to say that to you," he said. "And he's wrong."

"But that's how he really feels about me now," she said. "It's the way he's felt for a long time."

Jonah pulled back. "How do you know that?"

"Because," Becky cried. "You don't just _say_ something like that. It doesn't come out of nowhere. You have to be thinking about it for a long time, and just never say it out loud, because it's the kind of thing you can't take back."

She wiped her runny nose with the back of her hand, not caring how gross it looked.

"If he said it, he must really believe it," Becky said. Her voice was hoarse. "My dad never says things he doesn't mean."

"Everyone says things they don't mean," Jonah replied. "Especially when they're angry. Trust me, if you knew some of the things I said to my mom when we fought, you wouldn't want to be around me at all."

"Not my dad. He's a pastor. He's committed to telling the truth. And he's always been honest."

Jonah sighed. "Becky. Just because he's a pastor doesn't mean he's always right."

He took her by the shoulders, looking her in the eyes.

"He's wrong. You're not responsible for what your brother did, okay? That's on him. Your parents just won't see that. What your dad said was awful. And it's not true."

He reached over to the end table, where there was a box of tissues, and handed them to her. She wiped her face and eyes dry and was almost too embarrassed to blow her nose in front of him because it would be disgusting, but there was a lot of grossness in there and she couldn't really breathe. So she took some extra tissues and tried not to sound like a freaking elephant blowing its trunk.

If Jonah was embarrassed at all, he didn't look it. She didn't know if he was just trying to make things less awkward, or if he was used to girls he barely knew crying all over him.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to freak out on you like that."

"You didn't freak out," Jonah said. "Trust me. I've seen freak-outs before. That was, like, a hiccup, if anything."

She tried to grin, but her face wouldn't cooperate.

"And thanks again," she whispered. "For coming to get me. I probably sounded insane on the phone."

"You sounded like you needed help," he said. "Not crazy. No harm in asking for help."

He waited a beat, then said, "To be honest, I'm surprised you didn't call your boyfriend."

She thought the entire school knew about her and Drew breaking up. Someone had caught her whole smoothie-to-the-chest moment on their phone, and by the end of the day it was made into a Vine and all over social media. SMOOTHIE MELT-DOWN, it was called.

She thought everyone at Degrassi had seen it. Apparently not. Which Becky was grateful for - if she was trying to convince Jonah she wasn't insane, that video wouldn't help make her case.

"We broke up," she told him. "Last week. And I couldn't really call him, anyway. He has…other priorities."

"Oh," Jonah said, in a voice Becky couldn't read. "I'm sorry."

"Are you really?" she asked. "I thought you thought he was kind of a tool."

"Well…yeah," Jonah said, and she made a face. "But still. I'm sorry. It sucks to count on people to be there for you, and then they're not anymore."

She nodded, thinking that the list of people she actually could count on these days she could name on one hand. If that.

Adam, Drew, Imogen. Luke. Her parents. Her old Florida friends. The girls in her church youth group. Even Jenna. All of them had left her behind this year, in one way or the other. The Becky she used to be was so sure she was loved and supported. That she'd always have people by her side.

That Becky was an idiot. She believed everything she was told and always did what her parents said and ate all her vegetables and flossed every night and never questioned anything.

She believed her dad every time he said that if she put her faith in Christ, He would make her path clear. He was always guiding her. All she had to do was open her heart to His message, His forgiveness, His love.

Except she hadn't felt that way in a long time.

Maybe that was her fault. Maybe Becky had screwed up too much this year, and was too far away from who she used to be. Maybe she was permanently cut off from being able to hear God's word, like a severed phone line.

There was an old parable her dad used to teach. It was the story of a sailor on a sinking ship who was offered help from three different people, but he refused each one, assuming that Jesus would save him in the end. But the sailor drowned, and when he asked God why, He replied that the three people who came to the sailor's aid had been His messengers. The sailor had refused God's help because he couldn't understand what God was trying to tell him.

Her father always used that story to illustrate trust, and keeping your ears and heart open to Jesus's teachings. Because even when things looked bad, God had not forsaken His people; He always was always there, even when it felt like He had abandoned you completely. The Lord always had a grander plan in mind, and it was their job as Christians to remember that. To have faith in that.

Becky had heard that sermon so many times, she could practically recite it line for line. She always took for granted that if Jesus sent her help like He had to the sailor, she'd immediately recognize it for what it was. She believed she would always be able to hear Him.

Now she knew how that sailor felt. She felt like marching up to Jesus herself and demanding to know why he bailed on her this year, like everyone else did, when He was never supposed to. Except she could do without actually dying first.

Jonah was still watching her. Amazingly, he still didn't look grossed out or desperate for this whole emotional meltdown to be over.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked.

Becky sniffed. "I'm not sure."

Jonah nodded.

"I'll go get you another glass of water," he said, climbing off the couch.

"Wait," she said, before he turned away from her. He waited while she stared at the floor, trying to form the words.

"Do you ever feel like –" Her hands twisted around the snotted-up tissues. "You can't hear God's voice? Like, you want to, but the more you think about it, He just isn't talking to you? Or, you don't know if it's all in your head?"

Jonah raised his eyebrows at her, and only then did Becky realize how weird that question actually was. She was asking Jonah if he felt sad that he didn't hear voices in his head. Hearing it objectively for the first time in her life, she realized how crazy it all sounded.

Maybe it made her the worst Christian ever, asking him that. Or maybe what made her the worst Christian was the fact that she didn't have an automatic "no" for an answer.

Because if she didn't, that meant she was admitting to moments when she doubted God ever spoke to her at all. And the moments she had believed were times she was just deluding herself.

Did everyone feel this way? Or just girls whose boyfriends died? Girls who sent their brothers to jail? And kissed boys who were having babies with their sort-of-ex-girlfriends?

"Yeah," Jonah said, sitting back down next to her. "Of course I do. Everyone struggles with faith, Becky. You're a preacher's daughter, you would know that better than anyone."

"But I don't!" Becky said. "I never once questioned it. Ever. In seventeen years, I never thought about what I really believed."

"That doesn't make you a bad person," Jonah said. "And there's a difference between following something blindly and believing because you know it's true."

He pulled the cross necklace out from underneath his shirt collar and held it for her to see.

"' _Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for'_ ," he quoted. " _'The conviction of things not seen'_. Hebrews 11:1."

He slid the cross back underneath his shirt.

"Just because you've never doubted before doesn't make you suddenly not a Christian." Jonah said. "That's what faith _is_."

Becky threw her hands in the air. "Well, then maybe I have no faith!"

She knew she was coming dangerously close to pouting. "Carrying on", her grandmother used to call it. As in, "Rebecca, stop that carrying on right now."

Well, maybe she was acting like a three-year-old. But she wasn't sure she cared at this moment.

"Do you want to hear how stupid I am?" she said. Her voice was cracking, but not from tears. She was too angry to cry anymore. "I really believed that if I was a good little girl, God would give me everything I wanted."

She shook her head. "Except I'm pathetic, because my boyfriend died and my brother's in jail and all my friends abandoned me, and my parents hate me and I guess I think that God's not real anymore."

She watched Jonah's eyes widen, his mouth open slightly. It took her a second to she realized why - she never mentioned Adam before.

"I'm sorry," she said, her face burning. "I didn't mean to - I'm sorry I got so angry. I'll go now. I can get a ride, I'm so sorry I bothered you -"

"No, wait." He reached out and put his hand on her arm. Everything inside her shivered. "Becky, don't go. I didn't – I'm sorry about your boyfriend."

They stood there a moment, her half-poised with her purse and gross tissues in hand, and Jonah still touching her arm.

"Can I ask when it happened?" he asked softly.

Becky studied the carpet. "Over the summer. It was a car accident."

"This past summer?" Jonah shook his head. "Shit. That's – wow. I'm really sorry."

For once, she didn't wince when someone swore in front of her. It felt right, for the first time. Like that was the only word even semi-appropriate to describe how horrible it all was.

"We were fighting," Becky continued. "He thought I was cheating on him. I wasn't. But he was still trying to talk to me. He wanted to fix things between us."

She looked up at Jonah. "That's how the accident happened. He was on his way to see me, and drove off the road. He hit a tree. Crushed his chest. He died the next day during surgery."

Jonah squeezed her arm.

"I'm so sorry, Becky," he said. "I know that's lame and probably doesn't help, but –"

"I had no one after he died," she said, cutting him off. "Nobody. He was pretty much my only friend at Degrassi all last year. And then Imogen ditched me for Jack, and Drew kept being a total dead end, and then there was all the drama with Zoe's trial, and everything just…kept happening. And I don't think God's answered a single prayer I've had all year."

She collapsed back into the couch cushions, too exhausted to say another word.

"Maybe He has," Jonah told her. He let go of her arm and she hated how cold her skin felt. She wanted his skin to keep touching her skin. She wanted his hands to stay on her. She wanted both of his hands to touch her.

It should have shocked her, how much she wanted it. It should have made her want to get off the couch and away from temptation.

She didn't. She wanted to stay.

"Maybe He's just answering your prayers differently than before," Jonah said. "You're just not seeing it. Because you're not used to things being so tough."

She scowled. "So I'm not trying hard enough? Awesome."

"That's not what I meant. I mean…" He sighed. "Look, did you ever think about, like, talking to someone about it? About your ex, or Luke?

"I can't pray about it anymore," she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest.

"No, not that," Jonah replied. "I mean, like a counselor or something. I know your parents aren't much help, but is there anyone else at your church? Another pastor, or just a friend?"

"Not really," Becky said. And even if there was, she wouldn't talk to them, anyway. It didn't look good for business if the preacher's daughter was doubting herself.

"Come on," he pressed. "There's not one person?"

She shook her head. "Nobody at my church talks to me much anymore. They didn't like my boyfriend, and when I started dating him they kind of pushed me out of their circle. And after he died, none of them would talk to me. I wasn't really close with any of them, but after last summer they pretty much acted like I was a leper. And everything that happened with Luke officially made me the worst person ever."

Jonah frowned.

"Well," he said, leaning so close to her she could smell the chips on his breath, "from now on, you have me. And if you need me, I will listen."

He gave her a small grin. "I promise, I will come and pick you up on a random street corner whenever you need it."

She tried to smile back. "Even in the rain?"

"Even in the rain," he replied.

"Even at three in the morning?"

"That's the best time to stage a getaway," he said, and she didn't have to fake a smile that time.

"Even," she asked, "if my life is beyond fixing, and you're sick of hearing about it, and you don't feel like dealing with me anymore?"

Jonah shook his head.

"Looks like you're officially stuck with me," he said, smirking when another smile fought its way across her puffy, tear-stained face.

 **VI.**

They ended up in Jonah's garage, which was immaculately kept and didn't have that kerosene-and-musty scent garages usually had. Jonah's stepdad had been the only person to use the room, and when he divorced Jonah's mom and moved across the country he emptied the space of his antique cars and the various gadgets he always bought and never used. Now that it was empty, Jonah's mom let him turn it into a makeshift studio, with his guitar and drum set and even a microphone and little sound system he'd gotten off eBay. There was a giant oriental rug tossed over the concrete floor and a few bar stools forming a semicircle, and - Becky was surprised and delighted to see - a piano against the wall.

"Do you play?" Jonah asked, seeing her expression.

She sat down at the bench, fingers hovering over the keys.

"I used to," she said. She'd been taking lessons since she was six, the same age she'd started vocal training. She used to play in recitals, but then she went to middle school and joined the drama club. After that, piano took a backseat to school musicals and summer drama camps. She used to play and sing with the youth choir on Wednesdays and Sundays, but hadn't done that since before she'd started dating Adam.

Becky plinked out a couple of notes, then ran through a few scales. The piano was dusty and slightly out-of-tune, but it worked, and all the keys were still attached.

Jonah grabbed his guitar and took a seat on the bench next to her, strumming along as she played the first song she could think of, an old hymn they only played on Easter Sunday. She used to love the songs reserved for certain holidays. It was a break from the same hymns they sang every week.

"You remember that hook we were working on the other day?" he asked, tuning his guitar.

She nodded. "Did you finish the song?"

Jonah shook his head.

"Not yet," he said, "but I think, between the two of us, we can come up with something."

Becky nodded. Her hands rested on the keys as she tried to remember the melody, and Jonah strummed his strings, the sound echoing through the cavernous room.

"Ready?" He asked, and started tapping out a beat on the guitar's hollow belly. "One, two, three, four -"

She bit her lip in concentration and focused on matching Jonah's rhythm. There was nothing else in the room but the sound of the music, the melodies overlapping, meeting each other note by note, and then their voices as they sang the opening line.

For the first time all day, she was hearing everything she needed to. Perfectly.


End file.
